They condescended, however, to give Queenie a note to a trained nurse, a Mrs. Brent, suggesting that she would in all probability receive her mother and self for a few days, until Mrs. Trevalyn was able to return to New York. And thither, letter in hand, Queenie turned her steps, murmuring to herself: “Ah, me! How strange are the tricks fate plays upon us!” little dreaming as she uttered the words of the thrilling event about to transpire. CHAPTER VII. A DREAD ALTERNATIVE. “He said, ‘I never can forgive A wrong so darkly done; Nor will I ever, as I live, Regard the faithless one As erst mine own familiar friend, Whose fealty was my boast. Yes, those on whom we most depend Have power to wound us most.’” Miss Trevalyn lost no time in applying to the nurse, Mrs. Brent, for admission for her mother and herself for a few days beneath her humble roof; but in this instance fate was unkind to the young lady. Mrs. Brent had no room to spare, she was informed. She returned to the hotel greatly upset, wondering what on earth was to be done now. As she opened the door of their room, Mrs. Trevalyn flew toward her laughing and crying hysterically by turns. “We shall not remain in Newport another hour, my love!” she cried. “See, here is another letter from your father, and it has put new life into me. Read it, Queenie.” There were but a few hurried lines this time, and to the effect that his business troubles had been staved off for a period of three months, and that they could therefore return home without any one being the wiser, at present, of the horrible black cloud which hung over their heads. “Three months’ respite, Queenie!” exclaimed Mrs. Trevalyn, clasping and unclasping her bracelets, laughing and crying in the same breath. “Heaven knows what may take place in that length of time; probably you will have made up with the rich Mr. Dinsmore, and--and be married to him; and then we will be saved. Even if you should fail with him,” she went on, plaintively, “there is the old Widower Brown----” “Stop, mother!” cried Queenie Trevalyn, a shudder of horror passing over her slender frame. “I love wealth and position dearly, but I would rather die on the street from starvation than marry a man whom I detest as thoroughly as Hiram Brown, octogenarian, miser, hunchback, and pawnbroker.” As she uttered the words there arose before her mental vision the image of the creature whom her words had described--a shriveled, toothless, horrible being in the shape of a man, who had actually had the audacity to apply to her father for an introduction to his beautiful daughter, “with a view to matrimony,” as his terse communication phrased his intentions.